


And My Head Won't Let Me

by JustJasper



Series: Summer To Your Heart [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cheating, Infidelity, M/M, Pining, Possibly Unrequited Love, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-04 23:38:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14031369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustJasper/pseuds/JustJasper
Summary: The Bull's been a dirty little secret before, and this is somehow different.





	And My Head Won't Let Me

**Author's Note:**

> Go (re)read the first in the series or a lot of this won't make sense/will seem really jumpy.
> 
> The final part (Dorian POV) is in the works...

“ **The truly scary thing about undiscovered lies is that they have a greater capacity to diminish us than exposed ones. They erode our strength, our self-esteem, our very foundation.” - Cheryl Hughes**

Sometimes after they've fucked, Dorian stays. Not to sleep, but sometimes they fuck at odd hours, and he'll stick around. Maybe the Bull will write out some reports while Dorian picks fights with him about anything he likes.

“The fact that you think that's even remotely passable as an ending speaks to your character.”

“I liked it. Felt rounded.”

“It was predictable,” Dorian says, pouring himself more watered wine, “worse, it was boring. Predictable can be all well and good, especially when it's earned, but not to have Oranto come to see the wedding? Honestly, we ought to have a gotten a refund.”

“The tickets were free. Josephine hates Orlesians putting on Antivan plays.”

“For once, the Orlesians weren't the problem.”

“Maybe you should write your own ending. I'm sure we can find some people to stage it.”

“Oh, I've half a mind to. My version would have better jokes, too. They'd be witty.”

“They'd be shitty?” the Bull says, faking mishearing, squinting at his records.

Dorian scoffs, launches a pillow in his direction.

“Why do I put up with you, again?”

The Bull's not sure when it happens, but it's then that he knows, when he hopes. He doesn't think he's ever been in love before, so by process of elimination, that's got to be it. Huh.

*

Dorian stops coming to his room. Which is okay, it's not like they had an arrangement. Not like that; his door's always open, but it's not a request. Not an invite that Dorian's spurned. Just a thing, and Dorian's not interested, and that's fine. They still talk, they still drink, it's still good.

He finds out about Dorian and the Inquisitor from gossip, from a passing comment of a chantry sister in the keep. So Dorian, who denied all accusations levelled at him that he was a big soppy romantic, who made a show of detesting the novels he read and then slated to the Bull, who was sweet under all that bluster, he'd found someone.

“You okay, Chief?”

“Hm? Yeah. I'm good.”

It wasn't a lie. Dorian was happy, and he was happy for Dorian.

And if it felt a little bit like drowning? Well, that'd fade quickly.

*

This time when he goes to visit Josephine in her office, there's a qunari-sized chair at her desk, which she beckons him into. Nice to have a more comfortable place to plant himself while they go over their business – contracts, supplies, enquiries. The Chargers are still quite sort after, but now they're with the Inquisition Josephine has to do some negotiating.

If she happens to keep fancy chocolates aside for his visit, then that's just a bonus.

They're halfway through a box and a pile of reports when the Inquistor comes to her office.

“Good afternoon,” he says cheerily, “anything for me?”

“Nothing outstanding. There is a gift for lord Dorian, if you'd like to let him know. I was going to send a messenger later this afternoon.”

“Oh?”

She hands him a leaf of parchment, which he gives a cursory glance as the Bull reads his next report.

“They've been sent to the stores?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, I'll let him know. No need for a messenger. Thank you, Josephine.”

He nods at the Bull has he leaves with the note. Wine probably, if it's gone to the stores. Not exactly a surprise, for Dorian.

“They're gathering some attention now,” Josephine says, taking another chocolate.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, Orlais wants to know all about the Inquisitor's comings and goings, who he's dining with, if he has a lover. It's hardly as if we could keep it a secret for long.”

“But you've got to work out how to sell it.”

“To some. He will always have his critics, for his political or military actions, or for who he chooses to court.”

 _Courting_. Never really made sense to the Bull, given that the Qun never worked like that, and it seemed more trouble than it was worth. But now... well, if Dorian's happy, if the Boss is happy, then it doesn't really matter if it makes sense to him.

*

It's been months, not that the Bull is counting or anything.

“You and the Boss,” he says. Dorian frowns.

“You're going to ask me about him _now_?”

“Yeah. He's been courting you, and now I'm guessing you two are a thing.”

“We're not— we're a thing. It's _casual_.”

“And you're here to scratch an itch he can't scratch?”

It's been so long, and Dorian's right there in his room, and he's not even sure Dorian telling him that its casual even matters. He's ached with how much he's missed Dorian like this.

“Can't, won't, it doesn't matter,” Dorian says. “I didn't come South to continue with mundane fucks.”

Dorian deserves more than mundane, he deserves the fucking world.

“Dorian—”

“I'm here, Bull. By all means, don't fuck me if it compromises your morality. But I'm here, and I've been thinking about the way your cock feels inside me all day.”

Dorian is asking for what he needs, as much as he can. The Bull wonders if he needs this too. He winds his fingers into Dorian's hair, and as he melts into the touch the Bull lets himself forget that he doesn't hold Dorian's heart.

“Didn't think you'd be coming back, kadan.”

*

The Inquisitor claps along with the rest of the crowd, a patter of applause as the Bull extends his arm to Dorian and pulls him off the floor.

“Almost had you,” he says, brushing himself down.

“Maybe next time, big guy.”

Truth is that Dorian's not going to beat him in a physical fight anytime soon, but it's good practice anyway. The Bull kneels to adjust his brace as Dorian wanders over towards Trevelyan, flirting. He knows the tone.

“Alright,” Dorian says when the two part, laughing. “I'll see you tonight.”

The Bull's got no business wondering. Not even like it's useful information. Not like he's a spy anymore anyway.

“Bull,” Trevelyan calls, waving him over. “Good show. Glad you're on our side.”

“Thanks, Boss.”

“Don't go giving Dorian ideas though,” he says, laughing lightly.

“What?” Is this--? No, the Inquisitor's too relaxed. He's a good liar when it calls for it, when it's some Orlesian noble idiot he's got to bluff to, but the Bull's a better liar by far.

“He's told me all about his wild youth. I've made all this effort to reign him in, and there you go rough-housing with him.”

It's meant to be a joke. Kinda makes the Bull uneasy.

“He's singularly minded sometimes is all, thinking with his prick instead of his head. I wouldn't want him to make a fool of himself. He's not a teenager any more.”

“It's just practice, Boss.”

“Of course you know that, but you ought not indulge him. I don't. Anyhow, much to do, I ought to be getting on.”

Yeah, uneasy's about the start of it.

*

“He asked me to share his room,” Dorian says, while the Bull watches him at his vanity.

“Trevelyan?” the Bull says dumbly.

“Yes.”

It's not like it's quick – they've been lovers for months now. The on-off of Dorian's visits to the Bull though, he clearly still needs to work shit out. The Bull's his friend, and if he needs the help working through it, Bull's going to be be there for him.

“What did you say?”

“I said I'd rather keep my room.”

“Because you don't want to live with him. But you don't want to break things off.”

“I know you think I should make up my mind.”

“That's not what I think.”

“You can't possibly be happy being a dirty little secret,” he mutters, studying his pot of khol.

“Nah, but I've been that before,” the Bull says. Dorian makes a little surprised noise – like he expected the Bull to deny that it bothered him at all. “Not really into lying to the Boss like this, it's pretty crappy. But I'm not about to tell you what to do, Dorian. You need me to bounce this stuff around with, to scratch that itch, that's what I'm here for.”

“Is that what you want?”

The Bull shrugs. What does that matter?

“I want whatever you're comfortable with, big guy.”

“So you acquiesce to fucking me to satisfy some intrinsic need you have to be useful? How flattering! How noble!”

“What do you want me to do, Dorian?” He only has to ask, and the Bull will give it. “You want me to be jealous you're fucking us both, to be cut up that you're sneaking around on your lover with me?”

“Yes! Something remotely normal, perhaps!”

“I'm not going to make demands of you about anything, including about who you want to fuck. You want to screw us both, that's okay. You decide you want to stop coming around, that's fine too.”

“Are those the only choices?” Dorian snaps.

“That's up to you.”

“And it wouldn't matter to you if this,” he gestures between them, “was over, just like that?”

“If you want it to be over, you just say the word.”

“What, 'katoh'? You'd have me use the fucking watchword like this entire last year has been a simple bedroom game? Katoh, then. _Katoh_. Go, leave, get out!”

It's simple, then – that's why he gave him the word, after all. No mess, nothing unclear. End. Stop. The Bull leaves.

*

The Bull stays out of the way at Halamshiral, keeping an eye on proceedings and picking at the hors d'oeuvres, goes where the Boss needs him. He stands out too much to be much of a spy, although the Orlesians talk about him like he's too dumb to understand a piss-easy language like theirs, so some of it they're just giving away.

In one of the gardens, Dorian stands with a glass of wine, looking far away.

“Hey,” he says, offering up the platter he's claimed. “Tiny little prawn-thingy?”

Dorian waves him off, gives him a once over – but doesn't seem to get any joy from the view like the Bull though he would. He doesn't like the undershirt and the pants are too tight, but he's scrubbed up well in the Inquisition uniform.

“You okay?”

“I have wine, things are bearable.”

Now that the other guests have had their fill of gossip about the Inquisition, they go mostly ignored in the garden, given a wide berth.

“He told me he loves me,” Dorian says, into his wine glass as he lifts it to drink.

“You don't sound happy about that.”

Dorian takes another drink.

“He won't listen to me, he won't talk to me, and he _loves_ me. And I should love him back. He's good, isn't he?”

“He's a good leader,” the Bull says, measured as he watches Dorian.

“He's everything I should want. He'd kind, and sweet, and he loves me. But he keeps—”

Dorian trails off, stands staring ahead until a server comes close and Dorian can take the offered refill of wine. He says 'when' just before the glass overflows.

“Keeps what?” the Bull prompts.

Dorian sighs.

“He loves me. He's good. But he's _selfish_.”

He looks at the Bull, maybe trying to get a read on him. Looks away.

“I spent so long being fucked selfishly. I thought I'd left it behind, and here I am, _enduring_ his affections. Going to my knees to make up for not loving him.”

The Bull is quiet for a long moment. Dorian doesn't look at him again, just drinks. There it is, that uneasy feeling...

“If he forced you—”

“No,” Dorian says, shaking his head a little and casting around for witnesses to the conversation. “He didn't. He never has. Only I thought I was done having bad sex that leaves me feeling...”

He doesn't say how it makes him feel, just sighs and swishes his wine in his glass. He's fucking miserable tonight, that's plain enough the Bull doesn't have to be himself to know it.

“You can walk away.”

“It's not that simple. Just because it's difficult, it doesn't mean it isn't worth pursuing. I care about him, and he loves me. I've no wish to break his heart. You wouldn't understand such things.”

“Cause I'm Qunari?”

“Doesn't work like this for you, does it?”

“Guess not.” Saying it feels like a cop out. Saying anything else isn't going to be what Dorian needs to hear right now.

*

The Bull still fucks other people. It's fun, and people come to him to scratch an itch, but not Dorian any more. He's okay with it. The fact he's in love with Dorian still – pretty sure he is, the way his insides go whenever he sees him – doesn't really play into it. Doesn't matter. He's not what Dorian wants.

Could be what he needs, but he's already offered. His door's always open, after all. Beyond that, it gets messy. He's not sure what he's meant to do with his feelings, he's not even sure how he's meant to feel them.

Trevelyan loves Dorian too. Now he knows it, the Bull can't stop thinking about it.

Does love look like holing up in the war room until the early hours all week? Does it look like leaving Dorian waiting in the tavern three nights in a row, looking more and more miserable? Maybe it does, when there's a war on, when you're the Inquisitor. Sacrifices have to be made, compromises for the good of the whole. The Bull was raised on that, understands it implicitly.

But love's meant to be this all-encompassing thing, the way people outside the Qun have talked about it, mythologised it, built their societies around it. It's unfamiliar, and confusing, and straight up nonsense sometimes.

So he's not exactly qualified to know what love is, but he's pretty sure it's not Dorian crying quietly in the library when he thinks he's alone.

*

He knows Dorian's body, missed it – but he's here now, woken in the night to Dorian there. His heart could have burst out of his chest at the sight. So they fall into a rhythm that feels effortless; the way Dorian's thighs stretch over the Bull's. The smell of him, thick and heavy in the air between them. His fingers digging into his back.

There's oil, thick fingers against Dorian's hole, opening him steadily. The Bull's cock over-oiled, the slide slow and smooth.

Dawn is breaking outside, the light coming in through the window of the Bull's room. There's no way to know if this'll be the last time, or the first of a few. He'll take it, anyhow. The Bull's grip on Dorian's hips tightens, and he grinds them together harder.

Dorian presses his face into the Bull's shoulder as he comes, shouting moan muffled into his skin. The Bull's motion slows to a lazy roll of his hips.

“Are you close?” Dorian whispers, breathless.

“Yeah,” he, stroking at Dorian's damp hair.

“Stay. Maker, Bull, stay inside me.”

Not too long later, the Bull spills inside him, a low moan reverberating from his chest. He holds Dorian, huge hands stroking his back, kisses his hair, his temple, his mouth when Dorian lifts his face, seeking it.

Eventually, Dorian dresses – he'll need to leave via the wall, to avoid anyone seeing him leaving. The Bull sits on the edge of the bed, and wants to ask him to stay.

Fully dressed, Dorian hesitates, glancing at the door; the Bull reaches for his hand and pulls Dorian back between his knees for a kiss.

“I have to sort things with the Inquisitor,” Dorian says. “End it before it can go any further.”

“I'll be right here for you,” the Bull promises.

He won't give Dorian the burden of another love confession, but he's sure of it then.

*

Takes a few days for the Inquisitor to find him after he catches him and Dorian together. The Bull's been avoiding him, giving him space. It's going to be messy, but no need to invite it into his house, so to speak.

If Trevelyan chooses to pick this fight when his Chargers are there, he'll just have to deal with them glaring daggers at him.

“He was mine!”

The Bull puts his tankard down, feels the atmosphere around the table change.

“You wanna go somewhere and talk, Boss?”

“What, don't want your men to know what kind of man you are?” Maxwell spits. He's shaking with rage, and this is going to get ugly.

“My men already know the kind of man I am. Say what you need to say.”

“He was mine! You stole him from me!” He crumples then, a miserable grimace twisting his face. He makes a sorry sight. “Please, give him back.”

“Doesn't work like that.”

“Just give me his heart, tell him you're tired of him, tell him I'm better for him!”

“Boss, you're not. Dorian's made a choice. I can't give you back what you never had.”

“You-!” Trevelyan splutters, red-faced, spit flying from his mouth. Dalish recoils. “If you ever cross me—”

The Bull can feel the change immediately, and holds up a placating hand before any of his men can square up. Skinner's hand is on her dagger, Krem is ready to grab the table and start swinging it.

“Don't say something you're gonna regret, Boss.”

Trevelyan doesn't stay, just straightens his back and storms out. The unnatural quiet that fell over the pub starts to dissipate, and his Chargers settle.

“Not the first time a lay has lost us favour with an employer,” Stitches says dryly.

Krem snorts. “Hope he's worth it.”

The Bull leans over to cuff Krem's ear.

“He is.”

“ **If it is necessary sometimes to lie to others, it is always despicable to lie to oneself.” - W. Somerset Maugham**


End file.
